


Harry's Bar

by travellinghopefully



Series: Whouffaldi Fanfiction Countdown [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, Whouffaldi Fanfiction Countdown, fashion - Freeform, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:59:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, the prompt was - "A time lord and a human walk into a bar"...</p><p>let's just ignore the bit where they don't, not exactly....</p><p>they deserve a night off, a night out</p><p>*nods emphatically*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry's Bar

The Doctor walked up to Clara and handed her a garment bag.

“Put this on, we’re going out.” He didn’t say anything about dancing, he would work up to that.

He went to his room and shaved meticulously, twice. He hummed to himself as he concentrated all his attention on his preparations.

Regarding the outfit he had hung up earlier, he ran his hands over the satin and the velvet. He inhaled the fragrance that lingered and searched through a surprisingly cluttered collection of cosmetics for one particular bottle.

Joy.

His mental encyclopaedia kicked in. Joy by Jean Patou, created after the Wall Street crash and sent to 250 of his American clients. A perfume of ridiculous luxury, an essence of flowers, 10 000 jasmine, 28 dozen roses, ylang ylang, michelia, tuberose, all combined to create 1 oz of heaven. He carefully removed the stopper and inhaled the scent and allowed himself to be swept on a tide of memory. A perfume said to represent natural joie de vivre, yes that was exactly it, that was what he felt with Clara in the TARDIS. That was what he wanted to express and share.

After his shower he dabbed the stopper behind his ears, swiped it across the pulse points of his wrists and allowed the warmth of his skin to envelop him in a cloud of “sophistication and prestige”. 

He gave a very unsophisticated giggle.

Tension and stress ebbed from him as he began the ritual of applying make up. The TARDIS chided him into remembering to moisturise, his skin in this regeneration was older and drier, and irritating. He took the intervening time to paint his nails. Echoing the hint of colour in his outfit he picked a pale shimmering green – he angled his toes and watched the iridescent play of colours as they dried. Giving his fingers and toes a last wiggle he sat in front of the mirror.

Nothing quite relieved stress in this way. It was like shedding a chrysalis, he could let go of stern, of shouty, of authoritarian. 

Preparation. 

The ritual was everything. He smoothed foundation over his skin, noting it was a new shade. He used his finger tips to carefully blend the cream into his skin, angling his head to the light to ensure he hadn’t left an unsightly tide line. Maybe there was something to be said for three mirrors? He concentrated on his reflection and worked steadily. When he was younger the effect might almost have been beautiful, now he could at least consider himself striking – he steadfastly ignored his eyebrows. The wig he decided on was short and blonde, falling in soft, elegant, waves and curls, but not girlish. He truly admired Grayson Perry, but he wasn’t attempting a Little Bo Peep aesthetic.

The underwear he had selected was as sumptuous as his outfit and he fussed for several minutes making sure the seams of his stockings were perfectly aligned. He adored the comforting, soft feel, wrapping him in a sense of security. He remembered being loved and lost himself in nostalgia. All of time and space and he rarely stole moments like these.

He looked at his hands and went to wash them thoroughly, drying them carefully he allowed his fingertips to slide over the fabric of his dress. Ivory china silk, hand painted, almost a train, but not quite, there would definitely be no running. A tiny matching cape that he discarded, selecting instead an opera cloak of black and red velvet. “Magician”, someone had called him, and he did have a taste for the dramatic. This, he had chosen not for the drama, but for warmth, for gorgeousness, for being wrapped in memories, because it was beautiful, he loved it and yes, it allowed him to feel special. 

He was taking her to Harry’s Bar. He had contemplated introducing her to Hemingway, she would appreciate that. But no, tonight wasn’t going to be an evening when she stared adoringly into another man’s eyes. He shook off the memory of Robin Hood, oh how that laugh irritated him. No, tonight was going to be about drinking Bellinis, not the driest of martinis. Small mouthfuls of perfectly cooked, flavourful Italian food. Gentle conversation surrounded by the bubble of other people’s voices. Had he told her about the planet with bushes? No, perhaps less anecdotes, less hiding behind stories. Prosecco and white peaches would help no end. He could picture the tall ice cold glasses, tracing his finger through the condensation, watching the path of the drops running together, staring into her eyes.  
Tonight would be real, no adventures, no monsters, no puzzles to be solved. Just them.

He did glance back at another coat, a green that echoed the dress (and his nails), ruched and gathered and pleated and folded, striking too, but for another time.  
Pausing before selecting heels, he considered how much he would tower over Clara. He shook his head, the outfit demanded heels. He settled finally on ones that were torturously high, with an overblown bow on the sides. Definitely, no running. He slipped them on and allowed himself to turn full circle in front of the mirror, pausing to check his reflection and ensuring no detail remained unchecked. He ran his hands over his outfit, adjusting infinitesimally here and there, until he was completely satisfied.

Gliding the carmine lipstick over his mouth one last time, he carefully blotted with a tissue and lifting his bag (slightly bulkier than he intended to accommodate his screwdriver, psychic paper, money and jelly babies) he winked at his reflection and headed for the console room.

He turned back and picked up the wrapped box from where he’d placed it earlier, it just about nestled in the top of his bag. He did, just a little, miss pockets.  
She had her back to him. The perfect, YSL tuxedo moulded to her petite frame, the tantalising glimpse of red from her Laboutin heels. Her gorgeous chestnut hair, cascading in a shimmering wave. He paused to drink this in, everything he loved.

Slowly, she turned round.

Some things you never share with anyone. With her, he would share everything.

**Author's Note:**

> I have more notes on this, than story I think, I have a pinterest board of fashion for this!
> 
> Yes, I was inspired by the prompt, and really wasn't sure what to do with it and then someone on tumblr posted Peter Capaldi as Vera in Prime Suspect 3 and I thought, "ah", I know! And watching Jealousy! several very good moments, very, very good moments
> 
> Hopefully this still feels like 12, but it was time to give him a night off from angst.
> 
> Harry's Bar has been sold, but lives on, but I wouldn't mind a night out with the Doctor and Hemingway and the opportunity to wear vintage couture.
> 
> So, the couture links -  
> the second choice dress http://www.artcurial.com/en/asp/fullcatalogue.asp?salelot=2120+++++477+&refno=10389289&image=1#sthash.CUJaNrIi.hgRnDi1v.dpbs
> 
> the actual dress, he didn't wear the cape http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/works-of-art/1972.30.17a,b
> 
> his gift to Clara http://www.decorativefair.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/DSC_1104.jpg
> 
> Clara's tuxedo http://coolspotters.com/files/photos/573538/yves-saint-laurent-rive-gauche-spring-2004-rtw-tuxedo-profile.jpg
> 
> His sumptuous underwear from here https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/ohhhlulu?ref=unav_listing-cta1
> 
> and the cloak http://www.ebay.com/itm/JEAN-PATOU-VINTAGE-1930S-STYLE-BLACK-RED-VELVET-DRESS-OPERA-GOWN-CAPE-COLLAR-/221535122484?roken=cUgayN&nma=true&si=zlsRy0hR7M2BnKSynhWmClr7wLM%253D&orig_cvip=true&rt=nc&_trksid=p2047675.l2557


End file.
